Opening Doors I was born after the fireworks during an opera in 1964 and from the off was an unusual child. Having escaped every form of enclosure as a baby and being found at the bottoms of numerous stairs, on window sills and in presses I was christened a Divilskin. I sat sideways in prams, propped on yellow satin cushions, listening. As an infant I looked like a very old soul. While still a toddler I eavesdropped in cars and relayed information back to the people who were being discussed, much to the mortification of the adults. I always opened doors in other people’s houses, of rooms that weren’t even tidy, and rooted in their cupboards asking can I have this, so I could take a piece of them home . I was tied into the back seat of an Austin 1100 with baling twine to stop me climbing out the windows and regularly given a drop of the craythur on a dodo to sedate me enough to sleep. As a little girl I played alone with dolls, endlessly dressing and undressing them
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mdm Zzz I saw the word sleep in the ad. And women curled up under grey blankets. Blah blah blah ........ so very what I thought and scrolled on. It came back into my feed repeatedly so I tapped the link. It's a heavy blanket to calm you down is what it is. Calm a scourge? A woman with a racing brain who rarely sleeps ? Go ahead, hit me with your best shot. My amazing Doctor - had once issued the immortal line - "We'll have to bring out the big guns " and prescribed a strong sedative that I became immune to as speedily as my head races. Trying to sleep with the mania of a Bi-Polar high means that your brain is fizzing with kaleidoscopic colours and thoughts. Sometimes it hurts more to shut my eyes because of the flickering. On tour with my play I lay on a hotel bed in the last hours of sunlight before showtime and remarked wearily to a woman in the corner that it was easier to stay awake. As a child I had many names. That Divilskin.
School Daze 50 years ago a young blonde woman in a green tweed suit walked hand in hand with a big eyed child adorned with a home- made bonnet up a street named School Which was fitting. Although the big eyed child didn’t know it yet. And was more concerned about which crocheted string of her Nana Mahon’s hat she had to pull to open it. One released her tiny head, one constrained it lengthily. School Street – Photo © MDM The child had already been christened a scourge,that rip, a divilskin and a changeling baby ...... A reputation she lived up to with ease before breakfast, which mostly consisted of her screeching when she was presented with tay and covering a radio in butter with malice aforethought. The blonde woman was her mother Siobhán and a saint with the patience of Job. The school yard was thronged with roaring children and Moth